Dean's Very Bad Day
by graceandfire
Summary: Okay, I have been sucked into the genderswapping fic. Yes, I am ashamed. Rated M for strong language, this is Dean after all, and because I have no idea where genderswap falls on the ratings scale. This is NOT wincest.
1. Chapter 1

1

Sam wakes up, bleary-eyed and irritable because he had nightmares last night that he can't quite remember but which still remain, lying beneath the edges of his sub-conscious with impressions of sharp teeth and flames. He looks over at Dean, a reflexive reaction that's part reassurance that the most important person in his life is safe and part reassurance that his big brother is there to keep _him_ safe from the nightmares, real or imagined. Because Dean always has, ever since a serious six year old would tuck a chubby two year old into bed at night with the solemn promise to kill any monster that dared to crawl out of the closet, he'd 'use a knife, see, here it is right here, Sammy.'

Settling a little at the sight of the unmoving lump of blankets that says his brother is right where he's supposed to be, Sam sits up, rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stumbles out of bed and into the tiny motel bathroom where he lets the steaming heat of the tiny shower unwind his knotted muscles. He uses every last bit of hot water because he needs it today and, also, because, well, Dean was kind of a dick yesterday—more so than usual anyway—and, hey, payback's a bitch.

Feeling refreshed and maybe even human he exits the steamy bathroom and then stumbles back with a yelp, clutching instinctively at the small white towel covering not very much actually, as he stares at the girl, the outrageously pretty (and pretty much naked) girl sitting in Dean's bed. Sam is enough of a guy that his eyes wander south and he notices she's got perfect breasts, B cup looks like. They're perky and her skin is amazing; smooth, silky and tanned and his eyes take it all in before gentlemanly instincts kick in and he whips his gaze back up to fasten firmly on her face, not that looking at her face is a hardship 'cause _wow_, seriously gorgeous. The girl yawns and stretches her arms up in such a way as to show off the said breasts (that he's really, really not noticing) in a _very_ impressive way.

Sam looks frantically away from the naked girl and scans the small room for Dean—how the hell did his bro sneak a girl in here last night without waking him, anyway—but doesn't see his soon to be ass-kicked brother anywhere in the room. So Sam looks back at the naked girl, focusing desperately on her eyes—EYES Sam, focus the fuck on her _eyes_—and watches the girl frown, blinking long-lashes framing sleepy green eyes. A feathery cap of honey brown hair frames a model gorgeous face with slashing cheekbones and pouting lips and…_oh fuck_, Sam feels his eyes widen as a horrible feeling starts in the pit of his stomach even before the girl gives him a casual 'what the fuck?' look of inquiry and opens her mouth to inquire in perfect Dean speak 'Dude, what the fuck are you looking at?'

At that point Sam can only point wordlessly at his brother (sister?) while still instinctively clutching at his towel even though he's been naked in front of Dean plenty of times throughout the years—hell, Dean likes to remind Sam he used to change Sam's diapers when he wants to be especially annoying—but Dean had never been a _girl_ before. Dean frowns again, then follows the direction of Sam's finger which is pointing directly at—"What the FUCK!" Dean jumps straight up out of the bed and in the back of his mind Sam is deeply relieved that Dean's at least wearing the boxers he went to bed in last night although they sure as _hell_ fit differently this morning than they did last night.

"_What the FUCK!_" Dean repeats again, a little hysterically, and really Sam can't blame him because he's feeling a little hysterical himself although a part of him that, yes, okay he will admit it, is a petty bastard, just takes note of his brother (sister!) clutching his/her? arms in front of—oh the hell with it, her then—breasts in a classic modest maiden pose because, man, when this is all over, he is _sooo_ going to have something to hold over Dean that is _way _worse than having had your diapers changed.

When Dean shouts "**_What the FUCK?_**!" a third time in an increasingly high register, Sam decides to helpfully point out "you're a girl, dude."

This response is, of course, not received well at all and Dean's shouted semi-hysterical response is along the lines of "I can fucking _see_ that, you fucking moron!" and "I am going to find the fucking creature that did this to me and I am going to fucking bitch slap that mother fucker into the deepest, darkest fucking hell there is!"

Yup, any doubts Sam may have had that this is a prank are laid to rest because that…that was definitely Dean.

"Why aren't _you_ a girl?" Dean yells at him accusingly, reaching down to pull the sheet up in a jerky, graceless motion, clutching it around her like a cloak.

Sam shrugs and doesn't even bother hiding the smirk because, okay yes, this is serious, but dude really…this is also funny as hell.

"Wipe that smirk _off_ your face asshole or you'll be smirking without the teeth I'm gonna knock out of your friggin' head," Dean hisses and Sam stops smiling because Dean may be serious. Although…

"Would the breasts throw your center of gravity off in a fight?" Sam asks, genuinely curious, and then feels his eyes widen involuntarily at the sulfurous round of cursing that erupts, creative and long and very, very vicious.

Eventually Dean stops swearing long enough to pull a t-shirt shirt on for which Sam is profoundly grateful because, being fascinated by your brother's breasts is just _wrong, wrong, wrong_ on so very many levels. Dean sits at the tiny table in the corner of their motel room and settles down to brooding in dark silence, no longer swearing continuously, instead just muttering an expletive every minute or so like she's managing to stomp down the self-knowledge of her new girldom for just that long before it resurfaces and she has to curse her fate anew.

"Okay, what could have done this?" Sam asks practically because although there is the element of amusement, in the end this just one more freaky thing the Winchesters need to deal with, like psychic visions or vampires.

"How the hell do I know?" Dean mutters resentfully, still not quite over the freaking out part although he's starting to deal, Sam can see it in Dean's eyes. Which, geez, Dean had had absurdly long-lashes as a guy but as a girl they're ridiculous, like some exaggerated painting of femininity and yeah, that thought, he's keeping to himself because center of gravity off or no, Dean would kill him dead.

"Well…we didn't fight anything last night and we were tracking a ghost of a killer dentist. Hard to imagine him turning you into a girl for kicks."

"Then what was it?" Dean asks, using surly to cover up the desperation starting to glimmer around the edges because God fucking _dammit_ he does not want to be a girl. He feels off in his own skin because it's not his skin. He's got these breasts bouncing around in front of him and he loves breasts, he always has, the soft giving feel of them, the sounds he can wring out of women when he's paying devoted attention to them with his calloused fingers and his clever tongue but not when they're _attached_ to him. He feels weak and there's a hot gush of panic that just keeps flooding his stomach because he feels…violated. He's not him anymore. Someone or something did this to him and he is going to kill whoever…whatever did it with a smile on his face and a vicious song in his heart.

Sam must finally be registering just how freaked out Dean really is because he looks at Dean, serious suddenly, losing the amusement that he'd barely bothered to hide and that had made Dean consider hitting his baby brother very, very hard. But now Sam's mouth has taken on a grim line and he's sincere—no one does sincere like Sammy—as he says "don't worry bro. We're going to figure this out." And some of the panic fades a little because they _will_ figure this out. It's what they do. And Sam and Dean together, they don't fail.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Sam and Dean mentally retrace their steps from yesterday and quickly focus in on the pawnshop. They've been investigating a rash of weird deaths at the brand new Peyton Dental Health Clinic in downtown Redford, Illinois. An old friend of Dad called them in because apparently it is just not normal for dental patients to fatally OD on laughing gas or get impaled by rogue dental instruments.

When they arrived at the clinic yesterday morning, the decorations in the lobby had immediately raised their suspicions and caused Dean to give a snort of disgust. "Why the hell do people always want to decorate with 'antiques' anyway?" he asked, shaking his head at the stupidity of the common masses.

"Well, some people actually appreciate the value of history," Sam responded dryly, to which Dean rolled his eyes to which Sam responded with "hey, the Impala could be seen as an antique."

This offensive remark caused Dean to stop in his tracks and glare at his little brother. "She's not an antique you dipwad. She's a _classic_. Huge Difference. Huge."

While Sam smirked, the two walked over to examine the artfully placed antique dental tools which looked a hell of a lot like instruments of torture, especially to Dean, who would have rather faced a ghost or goblin any day than make a trip to the dentist, and took religiously good care of his teeth so that he never ever had to. Fifteen minutes of research on Sam's laptop and, bingo, the boys found that, eighty years ago, there was an especially psycho killer dentist in town by the name of Janus Bell. The doc had been prone to giving his patients special treatments which resulted in very unpleasant fatalities about, oh 100 percent of the time. Even Dean had to wince at some of the shit the guy had pulled.

Upon taking a closer look at the lobby decorations, the boys weren't at all surprised to find the initials J.B. inscribed in the ancient medical bag which was resting tastefully on a glass shelf. A hasty conference with Dad's old buddy and ten minutes later there was a merry little dental bonfire going on in the basement of the clinic. Case closed, they should all be that easy.

Right.

A conversation between Dean and the pretty, young receptionist at the Clinic resulted in the information that the antiques had been purchased from a local pawn shop by one of the interior decorators, who just happened to be her cousin (God Bless small towns and their connections).

So after Dean finished sweet talking the girl, while Sam stood in the background coughing pointedly and tapping on his watch, they stopped by the pawn shop to make sure none of old J.B.'s stuff went to someone else or was still sitting in the shop, just waiting to lure some unwary dental instrument lover to their dental doom (although Dean tried to make the argument that anyone who collected antique dental instruments was probably evil and deserved to die.)

The pawn shop was pretty much a bust, with the skinny guy behind the sales counter swearing that the chick with the glasses bought every last bit of the dentist crap and that he'd bought the stuff from some old dude who came in a few weeks back and, uh, paperwork? He must have lost it. So the boys left and went to a diner near the motel to grab a bite and then headed back to their room where they spent a couple of hours relaxing, watching TV and arguing about who was hotter, Shakira, Christina Aguilera, or Madonna during the 80's phase (with Sam wondering how the hell Dean always pulled him into these stupid conversations) before turning in. It had been one of their more peaceful nights; which led them to this morning.

So now they're sitting in the tiny motel room and Dean, after a moment of frantic recall, remembers looking at an old ornate silver ring that caught his attention in the shop yesterday. He'd even tried it on for a minute which, fuck, what the hell had he been thinking? He _knows_ better than to mess with old shit like that.

Hearing Dean's story, Sam frowns in thought. Dean _does_ know better, they both do, he agrees slowly, thinking it through. "Maybe," he wonders out loud, "maybe there was some sort of compulsion on the ring, to lure its chosen victim into its trap."

The thought of having been compelled without his knowledge pisses Dean off, well, pisses him off _more_ and he stands up, snatching his keys, all for going right _now_, 'why the hell aren't you moving Sam, let's go!' he orders as he stands impatiently, fists clenched.

"Uh, you need some clothes dude," is Sam's apologetic answer.

Dean looks down at where his nipples are trying to poke a hole through his t-shirt and at the boxers that are hugging his hips and starts swearing all over again.

Dean's regular clothes don't in any size, shape or way fit his new smaller, much curvier female body. Sam's clothes sure as hell aren't going to be a better fit and Dean takes it as a personal insult as he realizes that, while Sammy has insisted on being taller for the past several years, his baby bro is now a freaking mutant giant compared to Dean's new female body which seems to have lost about five inches in translation. So Dean waits in the motel room, fuming, while Sam takes _his_ car out to make a run to the nearest thrift shop.

The kid returns about an hour later with an assortment of pants, a skirt and tops in different guessed sizes. The skirt, Dean holds up in front of him disdainfully while he cocks an accusing eyebrow at Sam, who holds up his arms in defense. "Hey, it's got a stretchy waistband. I figured it would fit."

In response Dean sneers and drops the skirt on the floor, giving it a satisfyingly vicious kick before scooping up the jeans and tops and god the _bras _and _panties_ and storming into the bathroom to try them on. He quickly throws the panties against the wall, because his boxers will work just _fine,_ while he checks out the rest. Two of the jeans are a decent fit so he settles on the more comfortable one. The tops are basic t-shirts, so he ends up choosing one that's a dark green, sneering at the pink one which joins the panties in the heap on the floor. The B-cup Playtex bra fits, although it's sure as hell not what he'd call comfortable and, Jesus, why do women _wear_ these fucking things anyway? It's not like men would object to women wandering around without them, at least, he sure as hell wouldn't.

At least his experience in taking them off of women helps him deal with getting it on and he's spared the total humiliation of asking Sammy for help. Actually, if he wasn't so pissed off at every single thing in the world right now, Dean might be amused at the thought of Sammy having to buy a bra 'cause he can totally picture the blush on the kid's face as he conscientiously tried to pick just the right one. But having to actually _wear _said bra kind of ruins the amusement factor so instead he just glares at his newly clothed image in the small mirror above the sink.

The part of him not furious and freaked coolly catalogues the image. Dean's spent years admiring, and putting the make on, the female form so he's more than qualified to recognize that he's hot as a girl. Seriously hot. 'At least my looks translated' he thinks. Then the same part of him that assesses a room for marks when he's looking to hustle pool or assesses strategies when he's planning a hunt thinks 'I can use this to my advantage if I need to.' Then furious and freaked wins out again and all he feels is the sudden urge to put his fist through the mirror.

He takes a moment to reestablish control over his emotions and then strides out of the bathroom in his new, used clothes and glares at Sammy, silently daring him to speak. But Sammy proves that he did, in fact, learn something at that fancy ass college 'cause he doesn't say a word just stands up, grabs his backpack and heads towards the door.

As they approach the Impala, Dean holds out a hand for the keys. When they're not immediately handed over, he turns an impatient glare on Sam who hesitates.

"Uh, it might be better for me to drive," Sam says cautiously.

Dean gives him an incredulous look. "Dude, it's my car; I'm driving. End of discussion."

"I'm just saying," Sam says as he raises his hands again in defense. "Who knows what side effects you could be suffering right now…"

"You mean other than that I'm a _girl_?" Dean asks incredulously before scowling. "The side effects are pretty clear Sammy. It doesn't mean I can't freaking drive."

Sam makes a helpless/frustrated/annoyed shrug. "I just mean, what if you pass out or something or…you start to change back while you're driving or…"

"Gee Sammy, or maybe I'll get cramps," Dean adds, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Dude…_give me_ the fucking _keys_!"

Sam gives up and throws the keys over in an easy underhanded toss that Dean misses because he expects his reach to be about half a foot longer. Sam blinks in shock, somehow more stunned by this than Dean turning into a girl, because Dean...Dean doesn't miss. Dean looks down at the offending keys lying in the dust at his feet and feels his control crumble and for one heart pounding moment he feels tears start to burn behind his eyes 'cause this just sucks so very much. So he closes his eyes and breathes; deep, calming breaths and repeats a litany to himself to 'suck it up, just suck it up Dean. You will get through this. You will not fall apart. You will not go psycho and you sure as _hell_ will not start crying like a little girl just because you now are one. You are still a soldier and this is just one more battle to win. So suck it up.'

When the red haze finally recedes from behind his eyeballs Dean opens dry eyes and reaches down to snag the keys from the ground. As he straightens he eyes Sammy, not sure what he'll do if his brother makes a smart ass remark right now. But the kid shows the Winchester survival instincts are still working because he gets in the car in complete, wide-eyed silence.

Dean grits his teeth as he finds himself having to adjust the seat way the hell forward, more forward than it's ever fucking been before and, finally settled, he starts the car, jacking up the music of Metallica, the soothing lullaby of hard rock acting as a balm to his jagged nerves.

He pulls the car out of the motel lot and they drive in silence for a moment but Dean figures it's not going to last 'cause he can practically feel the thoughts percolating through Sam's overdeveloped brain. Sure enough, after another moment of silence, Sam hesitantly says, "Hey Dean?"

"What?"

"You don't…" there's a very weird undercurrent in Sammy's voice and it causes Dean to look over at his brother, raising an eyebrow as he sees the oddest expression on Sammy's face.

Sam swallows hard and says haltingly. "You don't think you could actually get a period do you? I mean…when you said cramps it made me think of…and…I mean…menstruating. I mean…dude…" There is true horror in Sam's voice at this terrible, terrible thought.

And Dean panics. Dean has been shot, stabbed, burned, electrocuted, had broken bones, sprains and countless painful bruises and faced it all with a warrior's stoicism. But Sam's question shoots a bolt of pure, white, brain melting panic through him because…fuck. Oh fuck, oh _fuck_. His brain refuses to even finish processing the thought because it's not going to happen. Just…no. _Fuck _no.

"Sammy?" his voice comes out a strangled hiss as he tries to kills his brother with the strength of his glare.

"Yeah?" is the wary response.

"I really, really hate you right now. I just want you to know that."

Sam hunches his shoulders self-consciously. "No, dude, it's just…when you said cramps it made me think of…"

"_Sammy!_"

"Yeah?"

"Shut…the fuck…up! Dude seriously! Just…"

"Okay," chastened, Sam sinks back against the seat, brooding.

Dean floors it.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Ten minutes later they're pulled over by a cop for speeding, which is bad. Then they realize that girl-Dean doesn't have any ID, and it becomes, much, much worse.

"Dean if he searches the car…" Sam says, tension rising in his voice.

"I know Sammy. Just be cool," Dean orders as he feels the tension in his own muscles, the adrenaline starting to flow, getting him hyper-alert and battle ready.

The cop walks up to the window and Dean sizes him up while Sam thinks sadly that law school would have been nice. And then before Sam even has time to blink, Dean…changes.

Now Dean woke up this morning _looking _like a girl but everything else had still been Dean; from the swearing to the older brother tone of voice to the confident stride and soldier's bearing. But the Dean who turns to smile at the officer leaning into the car window is, well…a girl. A _girly _girl. Even though Sam can't see Dean's face it doesn't matter because his brother's whole _body language_ just shifts and when Dean speaks it's with a breathy, I'm just a silly, helpless little girl voice which just…_jesus_.

"Oh officer, I'm so, so sorry. I just…was I speeding?" Dean asks and Sam can practically hear his brother's eyelashes fluttering.

The cop, a tough, weathered old guy with a buzz cut who looks mid-fifties, just kind of…softens. "Well you were going pretty fast," he says mildly as he takes in the incredibly pretty little thing with the greenest eyes he's ever seen. It makes him wish he were twenty years younger but, hell, he thinks wistfully, a girl like this would have been out of his league even then. "That kind of driving's dangerous," he admonishes gently.

"Oh I know officer," the sincerity in Dean's voice, with just a hint of respect and awe at the authority figure, has Sam's eyes bulging so much he thinks they may fall out of their sockets. But that's okay though, because it's not like the officer's paying _any_ attention to him while Dean continues her masterpiece of bullshitting.

"I just…my mom was in an accident earlier today and she's in the hospital. I mean…she's fine, just a broken arm," Dean's voice gets a little teary here, "but it really shook me up and now I'm on my way to go pick her up and I…I was just so upset and oh…gosh, oh my _gosh_, I think left my purse back at the house," and now there is rising alarm in that high, breathy voice. "Oh, I can't believe I did that. Oh _noooo_, I'm going to get arrested now and mom will…"

The officer can't assure Dean fast enough that it's 'all right, things like this happen,' and 'just be sure to follow the speed limit all the way into town all right honey?' Or, 'since you forgot your license maybe you'd better let your boyfriend here drive. You're obviously overset.' This last statement is accompanied by a hard glare for Sam who the cop clearly considers a disgrace in the boyfriend department. Sam feels himself straightening automatically in his seat and offering the cop a sheepish smile, unaccountably feeling real guilt snake through his stomach at this censure for failing to help his completely _fake_ girlfriend in her completely _fake_ time of need.

A minute later they're watching the officer get back into his squad car and drive away, waving at them as he passes by. As soon as the tail lights start to dwindle, Dean reverts. One minute he's a sweet, feminine caricature of helplessness and the next he's…girl Dean again. Sam can only shake his head, trying to decide how he feels about the virtuoso performance he just witnessed as Dean gets out of the Impala and walks around to the passenger side. He stands impatiently as Sam slowly unfolds himself from the car to stand, looking down at his older brother with an expression bordering on awe. "Dude…"

Dean just looks up at him, expression blank except for a hint of defensiveness in her eyes. It's a completely Dean expression, and Sam recognizes it, even on the feminine features. Because it's the look Dean used to get when a teenage Sam would criticize him for learning how to pull credit card scams from Dad or for coming home flush from hustling pool instead of getting an 'honest job.' It means that, even though these days Sam's been lying as often (though not nearly as skillfully) as Dean, some part of his big brother is still expecting Sam to judge him for using his 'feminine wiles' to save their asses; for lying; for not being 'normal.' And for a moment all Sam feels is shame for being the one to put that look on his brother's face.

Well Sam's not a teenager anymore and these days 'normal' doesn't seem nearly as important as family and finding Jess and Mom's killer. And maybe, just maybe, Sam's finally realizing how many of Dean's actions have always been for Sam's benefit; to feed Sam, to clothe Sam, to buy that book Sam had nagged Dad about for weeks. So he smiles. It's a wry smile, a little bemused, but it's genuine. Geez, trust Dean, who's spent the entire morning being freaked out and pissed off about being a girl, to be able to switch over and use it with sheer scary genius when the stakes are high. So he just smiles down at his brother and says "good job" before walking over to the driver's side and climbing in. He can feel Dean's silent surprise about not getting shit from Sam for his con job and Sam wonders, as he pushes the seat back and adjusts the mirror, if maybe Dean's not a little freaked herself about how well she did the girl act.

Wait a minute.

An old memory clicks in his brain and he turns to his brother. "Wait a minute. Were you just channeling Linda Sue Fagan?"

Dean turns to looks at Sam, blinking in surprise. "You remember her?"

Sam laughs. "Dude, I was thirteen and she was _hot_. Besides, she was nice to me. And I remember getting pulled over in the car once while she was driving us."

Dean smiles wryly, relaxing a little as he loses the defensive look. "Yeah, I was channeling Linda Sue." She'd been his girlfriend for a couple of months when he was seventeen, down in Georgia. She'd been blonde, built and scary smart and she had the best ditz act for wrapping men around her little finger he's ever seen. He wonders what she's doing now. Probably Dictator of her own island somewhere. Scary girl.

Soon Sam is driving (under the speed limit) with Dean in the passenger side, heading towards town. They make it the rest of the way without incident and find parking half a block away from the pawn shop. The car's a classic so it gets a few admiring glances from people walking by or sitting at outdoor tables of the restaurants lining the street. Then Dean exits the car and the attention shifts instantly from car to girl because even without makeup and in worn jeans and a t-shirt Dean is worth a triple take. Sam notices the attention with a frown and wonders indignantly what is _wrong_ with these guys. Okay, yeah, so Dean is really pretty as a girl but, geez, these assholes are _staring. Lecherously. _

It's not like Sam's not used to people staring at his brother. Even as a guy Dean's obnoxiously pretty, completely aware of it, and uses it to his advantage wherever and whenever he can. But this…this feels different. Sam's not sexist. He's _not._ And Dean can take care of himself even when he's a she, but, geez, Sam still feels the sudden urge to cover Dean up with a blanket or maybe just punch that one guy over there who's _leering_. Glaring fiercely, he moves up to walk besides Dean, not putting his arm around her only because Dean would probably break it. He looks at Dean to see how he's dealing with all the guy stares and realizes his brother's not noticing a thing right now. Dean's focused on the pawn shop with all the intensity he shows when in the final stages of a hunt. Too intent on finding, and then grinding, that fucking ring into dust and then burning the dust and scattering the ashes to the four corners of the wind (or something like that) to notice the attention.

They enter the pawnshop and Sam huffs a sigh of relief which quickly turns into a huff of annoyance as he watches the pawn shop guy immediately light up like a Stadium on the 4th of July when he catches sight of Dean.

The guy smiles, a 'I would do anything/say anything to get in your pants' smile that fills Sam with the urge to plant his fist in the guy's annoying face. "Can I help you?" the guy smarms at Dean, not even looking at the glaring Sam.

Dean strides past the guy without a word, heading directly to the counter which the ring had been resting on yesterday. Her eyes sweep the display and Sam knows it's not there from the way Dean's whole body tenses. Now Dean swings around, green eyes laser sharp as she looks at the guy who's followed behind her like a puppy. "There was a ring here yesterday; moonstone, silver, ornate with designs on the side of it."

Annoying Pawn Shop Guy blinks. "Oh, yeah, man. I totally remember that. This chick came in and redeemed it."

"Redeemed it?" Dean asks sharply, glaring. "Was she the one who pawned it in the first place?"

"Nah," the skinny guy shakes his head. "She had the same last name but it was a different chick, older. She was kind of pissed off too," he says confidingly. "Said it was an old family heirloom and shouldn't have been sold."

"I need the name and address of that woman," Dean orders, stalking towards the skinny guy who backs up a step, eyes widening at the intensity on Dean's face. The pawn shop guy hits the desk with his back and stops, straightening up and plastering his version of 'hey baby, what's your sign' on his face. "Well, that's confidential information sweetcheeks but I could probably be 'persuaded' to help you out."

Sam can't believe it. First of all, who the hell uses 'sweetcheeks' anymore? And second of all, hello, is he not standing _right here_? A guy comes into a store with a girl, people assume the guy's her boyfriend. That's just the way people think. And yet this jerk-wad is coming on to Dean anyway, in the most annoyingly sleazy way that just makes Sam want to put his fist through the guy's skull and man, what the _hell_? It's not like Sam's not used to hanging out with beautiful women because Jess was drop-dead gorgeous and random guys used to drool over her all the time. But he doesn't remember _ever_ feeling this pissed off about it. In fact he remembers being a little proud (as long as they weren't really bothering her) that someone as amazing and beautiful as Jess who could have any guy she wanted thought _he_ was worth loving. But this…he just feels pissed, and maybe this is what growing up with a sister would have been like and man he should just fucking kick that guy's…oh…well, fuck. Sam blinks, feeling a little annoyed. Too late.

Because apparently Dean doesn't like Pawn Shop Dude's attitude anymore than Sam does and, having had enough of her incredibly shitty day, has decided to let loose some pent up aggression and, while Dean may have lost muscle and reach, she still has over twenty years of knowledge and that includes pretty much everything there is to know about leverage. Sam notes with approval that Dean's speed hasn't suffered any as, in a flash, she has annoying Pawn Shop Guy in a chokehold on the counter, using the guy's body against him. She leans down until her face is inches from the immobilized man and says in a very tired, very pissed off, very husky girl voice, "here's the thing you stupid fuck. You have no idea how very, very shitty my day has been. Shitty to the infinite, fucking degree." Dean bares her teeth in a snarl. "So you're going to get me the info on the lady you bought the ring from. And in return I'm not going to kill you. And if you do it fast enough, I _might_ not even rip your dick off and cram it down your fucking throat." And then she steps back and lets annoying Pawn Shop Guy go, eyes cool, hands loose, body ready in case she's read the guy wrong.

But annoying Pawn Shop Guy just stays where Dean left him for a moment, breathing heavily and looking at Dean with wide, wide eyes. Slowly, he straightens and clears his throat nervously. "It'll, uh, just be a minute."

A/N - Y'know, when I started this it was on a random whim and I had no idea where it was going. I still don't! But I hope you like it :)


	4. Chapter 4

4

Dean has always lived a physical life, channeling his doubts, fears and temper into training, killing monsters and getting laid. It's sure as shit more satisfying than talking about his _feelings_, that's for damn sure. So he feels better as they drive away from the pawnshop with name in hand. The incident with Pawn Shop twerp has cleared his head, helped him to settle, to feel a little more at home and a little less awkward in this new, _temporary_ skin. This day is still sucking hard but at least this body did what he wanted it to and he got to kick a little ass. It's…comforting. And now they've got a name and they're making progress, they're getting close, Dean can feel it in his altered bones. In the end, this is just like any other hunt (except for the part where he's a freaking _girl_); you find the bad thing, you kill the bad thing, you go have a beer.

As they head towards the address Pawn Shop Guy gave them, they discuss strategies.

"Kick in the door and threaten them?" Dean suggests, only half joking.

Sam shoots him a mildly censuring stare from beneath shaggy bangs. "Why don't we try talking to the woman? This Lilah Ellison bought the ring back and she told the Pawn Shop guy it was a family heirloom so maybe she knows what it does and how to reverse it."

"And maybe she's evil and goes around turning innocent guys into chicks all the time. Maybe it's her evil thing."

Sam shoots him a skeptical look. "Her evil thing? Dude, please. Besides," he offers his brother a raised brow of sincere inquiry, "under what possible circumstances could you ever be described as innocent?"

"What are you talking about? I'm a fucking angel," Dean returns in complete seriousness.

Sam's snort of mirth is answer enough.

They reach a tentative compromise of a plan as they pull up to the address. They'll say they saw the ring in the pawnshop yesterday, went back today to buy it and found out it was sold. They'll say they talked the pawn shop guy into giving this address so they could find out if the owners were willing to part with it.

Sam figures the owner's reaction should tell them a lot. Dean figures if the owner's reaction is evil he's going to rain some serious ass kicking on their curse loving evil asses.

They pull into a nice neighborhood with green lawns, leafy, shade providing trees and brick houses that have some individuality instead of being cookie cutter copies of each other. Getting out they head up the driveway towards an elegant old two story and climb the steps to the front porch where Dean impatiently leans on the doorbell and then knock/pounds a few times on the door causing Sam to frown. "Dude, chill."

Dean just shoots Sam a 'bite me' glare and lifts his fist to pound on the door again.

Then the door opens and Dean is momentarily distracted from his woes by the vision of complete and total hotness standing, frowning, before them. Letting his gaze wonder up and down in good natured lechery, Dean reacts from pure habit and reflex, flashing a blinding smile pumped with equal parts charm, admiration and a 'why yes I'll take you into the nearest room and fuck you blind if you really want me to honey' leer.

The woman, mid-thirties, raven haired, pale skinned and striking takes in Dean's reaction and groans. "Oh, great, I was too late."

Startled the two brothers look at each other.

"Uh, what do you mean?" Sam asks warily.

"The ring was only in that stupid pawnshop for two days," she mutters, almost to herself. "I was hoping it hadn't had time to bless anyone."

"_Bless_ anyone?" Dean asks incredulously, his smile fading at this ridiculous statement. "Lady that ring isn't a freaking blessing. It's an evil, evil…" Dean actually starts sputtering, too irritated by the woman's incredibly inaccurate use of the word 'blessing' to come up with anything besides 'evil.'

"Wait, are you saying you know there's a spell on your ring?" Sam asks, shooting his brother a wary gaze. If Dean attacks the woman she might a) refuse to help them and b) if she's a witch cause even more of a headache but so far Dean is still working on regaining the power of coherent speech.

"Yes, I know there's a spell on the ring," the woman sighs, running a hand through her hair in a harassed gesture. "One of my ancestors enchanted it."

"An _evil_ ancestor," Dean snaps out, apparently having regained the power of speech.

"She was _not_ an evil ancestor," the woman snaps back, looking annoyed now.

"The ring turned me into a freaking _chick_! How is that not an evil spell?" Dean shouts angrily.

The woman looks like she's about to yell back and then visibly restrains herself, features turning a little sympathetic. "Okay, look. I can understand why you'd be upset but the reasons for creating the ring weren't evil. They were…" she sighs, "oh you might as well come in." Opening the door wider, she gestures for the brothers to come in.

As they enter Sam leans down and hisses in Dean's ear. "Just try to be cool man. We need her cooperation." He ignores the angry mutters that are Dean's response and concentrates on smiling winningly at the woman. "I'm Sam by the way. And this," he indicates with a wry smile as they follow the woman into a parlor "is my brother Dean."

"I'm Lilah," the woman responded, offering an equally wry smile back at Sam. "And I _am_ sorry that you were caught in the spell," she tells Dean, shooting an honestly apologetic look at her. "I know it must have been a big shock to wake up like," she waves at Dean, "that."

Sam can practically feel Dean restraining herself, finally settling on only a modestly sarcastic, narrow eyed response of "Yes. Yes it was."

Sam and Dean sit down on rose shaded couch while Lilah sits down in the matching chair.

"You said the ring's spell isn't evil?" Sam asks, interested in spite of himself.

Lilah shakes her head emphatically. "No, it was intended as a blessing."

Seeing the boys' skeptical looks she explains. "Okay, look, the ring belonged to one of my ancestors in England, a practicing witch in the 1800's. She had a twin brother who was…well, a female soul trapped in a man's body." She shrugs. "Not the safest time and place to be a practicing transvestite if you know what I mean. So my ancestor, Morgana spelled a blessing into the ring for her brother. When he placed the ring on his finger, after falling asleep, he would wake up a female version of himself. In this case because they were twins, he ended up looking exactly like Morgana. It let her brother spend time with his lover who pretended to be courting her."

Sam leans in, clearly fascinated. "That's amazing. She must have been a very powerful witch to be able to alter her brother at the genetic level like that. Do you know what type of spell she would have used…"

"Let's focus here Sammy," Dean cuts him off sharply. "That's really nice and all that she helped her brother like that but me, I _like_ being a guy. I'd like to go back to _being_ a guy as soon as possible. What do I do to end the spell?"

Lilah shrugs. "You've already done it. You took the ring off. The spell needs to be renewed at least every third day. So as long as you don't put the ring back on you'll wake up after the third night as a guy again."

Dean sits back, almost feeling disappointed. "That's it?"

"That's it," Lilah confirms.

"Oh. That's…that's great," Dean says, although crushing that God Damn ring into dust would have been more satisfying…and then it really hits him. Of fuck, that _is_ fucking great. He breaks out into a relieved, beaming smile and Lilah gives him a funny look. "What?" he asks warily. Maybe there's some weird side effect she hasn't told him about.

"Nothing," Lilah responds, shooting him another look, this time bemused. "It's just…you must be a really pretty guy."

"You have no idea," Sam mutters as Dean's own smile turns into a cocky grin as he remembers just how much he likes brunettes. "I'd be happy to show you in three days, sweetheart."

They make it out of there without being turned into a newt or a bat or whatever witches these days are dishing out when they're annoyed because Sam's sure Lilah's a witch just as much as her ancestor was; there's just this aura about her. Of course, Sam realizes almost immediately that using the word 'aura' is a huge mistake, but by then its too late as evidenced by Dean's incredulous snort and use of the nickname 'aura boy' all the way back to the hotel which, damn, Sam really wants to hit Dean but he can't hit a girl so he just grits his teeth and swears to himself that when Dean turns back he's going to hold this over his brother's head for fucking _ever_. And underneath the annoyance is pure relief that Dean _is_ going to turn back soon. Because this day? Has shown him that he is really, really grateful he never had a sister. And underneath that? Is the deeper relief that his big brother, the one constant in his life, will be back to his normal, irritating constant self again in three days.

Not that Dean isn't just as capable of being annoying in her current state as she smugly rubs in the fact that she talked Lilah into a date in three days.

"It's not a date, you ass," Sam rolls his eyes. "She just wants to make sure the reversal goes okay."

Lilah seems on the level and pretty normal, except, Sam points out to Dean, that she seemed a little too susceptible to his bullshit pick up lines.

"Just means she's a woman of good taste Sammy."

"The name's _Sam_, _Deanna_."

This earns him a death glare from girl-Dean. "I can still kick your ass Sammy boy. A twisty chromosome will not fucking change that."

"Actually," Sam smirks at his sister, "we have the same training and now I have what? Fifty, sixty pounds on you at _least_, not to mention you're now the size of a bug. I could take you blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back."

Dean merely smiles back; a dangerous gleam entering leaf green eyes. "Training's not everything _Sammy_. It's hunter's instincts. And I'm still your big brother which means I will _always_ be able to kick your ass."

Dean really does looks dangerous at that moment but then again, Sam's grown up around Dean looking dangerous and Dean's never, ever been dangerous to him, so he just snorts. "Uh, I think actually right now you're my big _sister_, Deanna." He's half-expecting it and sees the fist coming from his peripheral vision but it still slips past his automatic block, making him see stars. Fuck yeah, Dean's still got his speed, he thinks in annoyance, as he shakes his head. "Hello! Driving here asshole!"

Dean just settles back smirking against the front seat. Hell yeah he can still kick Sammy's ass.

A/N - Okay, this was just a purely fun chapter to write so I hope you enjoy reading it :) This is wrapping up so I'm thinking one more chapter and it'll be done. Thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to write!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Sorry about the delay on this post! Work has been geh. Oh and ok, so that thing I said about this being the last chapter? Yeah, I lied. But I'm just about, pretty much, almost surely positive that the next chapter will be the last. Still kind of making this up as I go along. Thanks so much for the reviews and I hope you enjoy!

5

Dean decides as they re-enter the motel room that as long as this curse (there's just no fucking _way _he's calling it a blessing) will reverse itself in three days then he may as well just…go with it. And, yeah, so maybe there's this voice in the back of his head that keeps trying to ask what happens if he _doesn't_ change back but hell, Dean's a Winchester and as such has a long, proud tradition of repressing emotions to fall back on. So he firmly stomps that questioning voice into a tiny, tiny ball, locks the tiny ball into a tiny safe and then drop kicks the tiny safe off into its own tiny hell dimension until it decides to shut the hell up.

So.

Since he _will_ be changing back in three days, he might as well use the chance to, if not enjoy, at least do some research on what it's like being a chick. Think of it as an opportunity of sorts, he tells himself firmly, a chance to see things from the other side.

As a first step he locks himself in the tiny motel bathroom and studies his features in the small mirror. This time rage and freaking out aren't interfering with Dean's eyesight and he studies his female form with genuine curiosity and not a little approval. Hell yeah, he decides approvingly, he'd totally sleep with girl him. He narrows his eyes and tries to visualize himself in hot chick clothes; a tight tank top with a low neckline, a miniskirt and maybe some fuck me heels, but immediately starts to frown and shake his head at the image. First of all, the heels would play hell with his balance in a fight. Second of all, the skirt…his eyes track down to the crumpled heap of pink still decorating the bathroom floor from this morning and he feels his lips curl in automatic disdain. Fuck the skirt.

Dismissing the hot chick clothes idea, his attention turns back to the mirror and Dean takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight and cracking his neck from side to side. Here we go. He starts with the t-shirt, peeling it off in one swift move and then shimmying out of the bra and letting it drop to the floor. Nimble fingers, newly small and delicate, undo the jeans and he quickly shoves them down and off. Lastly, he steps out of the boxers and, completely naked, spends the next few minutes curiously exploring his changed body. It's just so freaking weird; the lush weight of breasts in his hands instead of hard pectoral muscles; the soft curve of hips where there should be planes; the smooth silk of petal soft skin with the barest glint of silky hair. And he suddenly realizes there are no calluses anywhere. And well fuck, his scars are gone too. Dean scowls, deeply offended. They're _his_ fucking scars, dammit. He _earned_ those scars. They're the fucking roadmap of his life and they've just disappeared like the past twenty-seven years of training and battles and sacrifice never happened. Son of a fucking _bitch_!

Dean fumes for a minute, thinking dire thoughts about witches, rings and piss poor curses (blessing his _ass_) and then shakes the annoyance off, sliding his hands further down to continue the exploration. He hands slide slowly, questioningly between his legs and he weighs the thought that's been hovering since he entered the bathroom and locked the door (okay, hell, a lot longer it's just that it's freaking _weird_). Well, he shrugs, might as well go for it. Dean calls up a picture of his old girlfriend Linda Sue for old times sake and she's shortly joined by Heather Locklear and that Veronica Mars chick ('cause he's in the mood for blondes) and he feels the ache begin to build; the tension familiar and yet completely new.

Whoa.

Ten minutes later Dean is shuddering in the after effects of his first girl orgasm ever and thinking _fuck yeah_. He opens his eyes and groans as his fingers coax another aftershock and he shakes his head ruefully. Wow. Okay, so while there's no way he'd ever give up being a guy, being able to bury himself in the sweet, silky heat of a woman ('cause that? best feeling _ever_); being the woman sex wise…not so bad. And hey there's the multiple orgasm thing right? He knows damn well that's not a myth because he's been responsible for enough of them, thank you the hell much. As he floats in the euphoria of aftermath Dean briefly considers the possibility of trying it all the way; finding some guy to pick up and actually trying out actual sex as a girl, but he immediately dismisses the idea.

First of all…while he's flexible, he's not so much into guys. Second, and more importantly, it could be dangerous. Yeah, he's still got his training but (and fuck if he will ever admit this to Sam) he _is_ at a serious disadvantage now when it comes to size and weight. He's still confident about his chances against a random dude if he's got room to maneuver. Sex though…sex is a close contact sport and he'd lose a lot of the advantage of his training if some asshole got him pinned down. So no, no guy experiments.

Entering the shower to clean up, Dean frowns as he starts to soap his altered body down. He's never really thought about it before; the trust women have to place in the men they go home with. He thinks about them; the one night stands from bars and pool halls, some of them etched into his memory with perfect clarity, some of them blurred in with a dozen others. Party girls most of them, random women who had gone blithely back to a motel room with him; attracted by the leather, the pretty, and the warrior's air of cool competence. Dean's frown deepens. What the hell had they been thinking? Did they have some sort of guy radar that told them he was safe? Dean shakes his head at the thought. It gives him a whole new perspective on females that's for sure. A new respect for their courage. Or maybe a shake of his head at their stupidity. In the end Dean shrugs because, hell, it's not like this new revelation is gonna stop him from picking up women in bars when he turns back to his normal studly self…it's just something to think about is all…he's distracted from his train of thoughts by a sudden pounding on the bathroom door.

"Dean! Are you molting or something in there? Come one man, you've been in there like an hour already!" Sam's shout is part impatience and part whine.

"Keep your pantyhose on!" Dean shouts, rolling his eyes and then cursing when he gets shampoo in them. He lets the shower hit his eyes directly to clear the stinging and then turns so the water's hitting his back, the pounding heat a moment borrowed from heaven. After a minute he lets his fingers slide down again. Heh, might as well enjoy it while he can.

Sam is standing impatiently with arms crossed when Dean finally exits the bathroom. "An hour? Dude, you _are_ turning into a girl."

Dean lets his middle finger do his talking and settles down on the bed, taking out his knife kit and falling into the soothing rhythmic motions of sharpening his blades. As he makes the slow, steady stroke of blade against stone Dean continues the trail of thought begun in the bathroom. Hmm, so doing a guy is out because there's no guy he trusts enough to try it with. But girls…he considers and starts to smile. Get a little girl on girl action going? Hell yeah, he could get into that. The smile is widening as Sam comes back out and sits in front of his computer.

"What?" Sam tosses over his shoulder, having noticed his brother's smile and having enough experience to be wary of it.

"I think I'll hit the bars tonight," Dean answers simply.

"What?" Sam immediately frowns and swivels around in the chair to face Dean. "No, that's not a good idea."

Dean frowns back. "Why the hell not? We go to bars all the time," he raises a brow.

Sam shrugs uncomfortably. "Come on man, bars are rough places."

"You mean because I'm a chick?" Dean asks skeptically. "Chicks go to bars all the time Sammy."

Clearly Sammy doesn't have an answer that doesn't make him sound like a chauvinistic ass because instead of responding with logic he just gets a mulish expression on his face. "I just don't feel like going to a bar tonight," he mutters and Dean flashes on Sammy being six years old again and refusing to eat his peas. Not that Dean ever tried to feed him peas. But Dad did. Once.

"Fine," Dean shrugs nonchalantly and returns his focus to the whetstone. "I'll go by myself." He suppresses a smile as he feels the furious _thinking_ coming from across the room.

Two hours later they enter a bar called "Ned's Place" on the outskirts of town. It's dark and smoky and dingy and the patrons are an interesting mix of rough and tumble and preppy. He feels the eyes on him as he enters the bar and for a second is weirded out by the attention. This puzzles him. Hell, he's used to being looked at by folks; it's no big. People (women _and _men) have been giving him the once over since he hit his teens and got so damn pretty. But this interest is different, more intense somehow, and the hair is rising at the nape of his neck and he's not quite sure why. And then with startled insight Dean figures it out. It's the same feeling he gets on hunts when the tables turn and he becomes the momentary prey of whatever evil monster they're chasing down. He feels like prey. Dean's eyes immediately narrow as he feels the urge to do what he always does when he's the hunted. Turn the fucking tables and become the hunter again.

Sam sees the subtle changes that come over Dean a moment after they enter the bar. It's sort of like what happened this morning with the trooper only…Dean is still Dean; just…more female about it. Sam watches the female wearing Dean's soul saunter forward and up to the bar and it's all Dean's walk; confident, loose limbed, almost a swagger, but it's also got this extra feminine sway to the gently curved hips that draws the eyes of everyone in the bar like a magnet (at least it sure as hell feels that way to Sam). Dean reaches the bar and leans over the top, emphasizing her ass (stop staring at your brother's ass Sam!), resting her elbows on the scarred and pitted surface.

Grim faced—he can already tell this is going to be a long night—Sam walks up to stand next to Dean just in time to hear her order a beer. "Same for me," Sam interjects and soon there's a sweating bottle of Coors in front of each of them. Sam frowns as Dean tilts her head back and swallows, the muscles of her throat working as she downs half the bottle. He takes a swift glance at the bar and, yes dammit, people are still looking.

Scowling, he turns back to Dean. "Y'know you might want to take it easy on the alcohol tonight. Your metabolism is probably all screwed up and you probably don't have as much tolerance as…" Sam stops when Dean shoots him a look. It's look number seven in the Dean Winchester handbook. It's the 'Dude, you are _such_ a dork' look that Sam has been the recipient of many, many times.

"I'm not looking to get drunk Sammy," Dean puts the bottle back on the bar top and turns around, surveying the room, green eyes bright with interest.

Sam relaxes a little. Maybe Dean really does just want a mellow evening at the bar.

"I'm looking to get laid."

Sam tenses way the hell back up.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - Okay, this actually is the final chapter! Thanks for sticking with this and thanks again so much for everyone who took the time to write. It really makes this whole experience so rewarding :)

6

"Are you crazy?" Sam hisses angrily and if he'd been taking a drink from his beer, it would be sprayed the hell over the floor right now.

"What?" Dean looks up at him with mild curiosity, head tilted, rosebud lips pursed.

"You can't just pick up some random guy and sleep with him," Sam mutters back furiously, unaccountably fighting a blush.

This gets him a narrow eyed frown.

"Why not?" Dean asks in a soft, sweet, gentle voice that somehow manages to convey the warning of 'do not make me kick your ass little bro.'

"Because for one thing you're not gay, asshole!" Sam retorts as he grabs his bottle and takes a long pull of beer. He's not going to feel weird about discussing this. He's not.

"I'm open to exploring my sexuality," Dean responds soberly and fuck it all Sam's almost positive there's a wicked gleam of amusement shining somewhere in those evil, evil green eyes.

Sam hears his own teeth grind as he glares down at Dean. She's punking him. He's almost sure. But there's this tiny little seed of doubt that makes him surly. "Well maybe you should be open to not being a slut," he mutters and is wincing even as he's finishing because, oh man, that was so not the right thing to say.

Sure enough, the amusement vanishes completely from narrowed eyes. "Dude, I pick up chicks in bars all the time. How is this different?"

Sam bites back the instinctive response of "It just is!" and tries to come up with something that a) will logically help him win this argument (Jesus you're going to be a lawyer Sam, you're supposed to be good at this shit) and b) will not make him out to be a caveman which he had never, ever thought he was but apparently the latent caveman gene is tied in with having a sister.

"You don't know what side effect the spell could have on you. What if you get pregnant before you turn back?" Yes. Good Sam. Good, logical argument.

Dean actually blinks at that one. There's a moment of silence and Sam cautiously begins to hope he's won when Dean shrugs and lifts the beer to her lips again for a swift pull. Dropping the bottle back down she smiles at Sam, eyes wicked once more. "That's what condoms are for Sammy boy."

Before Sam can point out that, statistically speaking, condoms are only 98.5 percent reliable, Dean is already turning and scanning the bar, asking "what about that one over there?" Sam looks to where Dean's pointing casually at a lean, blonde preppy type who's playing pool with some of his preppy friends but is clearly paying attention to the tawny haired babe at the bar because he immediately smiles back at Dean, straightening up and resting his hand on his cue.

Sam hates him instantly. The blonde is clearly one of those rich assholes of the type that abound at Stanford who's had life handed to him on a tiffany fucking platter and doesn't respect women at all. God, his name's probably Biff or Warren and he's probably got a 'The IV' to go after it. No. No way.

"He looks like an asshole," Sam states flatly, ignoring the incredulous look he can feel coming from Dean.

"Dude he looks like someone you'd have hung out with at Stanford," Dean points out mildly.

"Well he's not. He's someone I would have avoided at Stanford." Sam scowls as he watches the blonde, apparently having been encouraged by Dean's smile, hand his cue off to one of his companions and head over.

He approaches and he's even more annoying and blonde and perfect looking up close. "Hi," he smiles with perfect, blindingly white teeth. "I'm Jordan."

Of course you are, Sam thinks, and realizes his teeth are grinding again.

"Hey yourself," Dean smiles back, just as wide and twice as effective. "I'm, uh, Dean and this is Sam."

Jordan of the perfect smile blinks in surprise and then smiles again. "Dean. Cool name." To the credit which Sam absolutely refuses to grant him, Jordan then turns and smiles at Sam; not as big as what he offered Dean but genuinely friendly. "So you two go to Wentworth?"

Sam always checks out the nearest learning institutions when they hit a new town. It's amazing how often colleges and Universities have books on the arcane buried in their library stacks or at least have historical records of the town that prove useful in a hunt. So he knows Wentworth is a University nearby; pretty well ranked and actually with a decent law program. "No," his answer is curt and he doesn't care. "We're just passing through."

It seems to throw Jordan off balance a little but he recovers quickly and offers them another genuine smile (damn him). "Oh, well, hey you're welcome to join us for a game of pool." He turns and indicates the small group of people who are half playing pool and half watching their friend to see if he strikes out. At Jordan's wave the one's who aren't actually lining up a shot smile and wave and beckon with general good humor.

Sam opens his mouth to refuse but is cut off by Dean who finishes her beer with one swift swallow, smacks it down on the bar and grins up at Jordan, good humor and a flirting smile lighting up her pixie face. "Well I do enjoy a game of pool," she offers with an easy grin and, just like that, she's walking off with Jordan. Sam watches them walk away and spends a serious minute contemplating how perfect Jordan would look with some of his perfect teeth knocked out of his perfect mouth and then he rolls his eyes and gives up. With a deeply aggrieved sigh he grabs his beer off of the bar, drops some bills in its place and follows to protect his sister's long gone virtue.

What's annoying is that despite his sincere conviction that Jordan the perfect is an asshole, his friends turn out to be pretty damn nice and Sam probably _would_ have been friends with them if they had known each other at Stanford. There's Ace, the sleepy-eyed behemoth who's studying agriculture so he can go back and work on the family farm. There's Les, a skinny guy with wire frame glasses and caramel cream skin who's pre-law and who beams like its Christmas morning when he learns Sam was pre-law at Stanford. Then there's Evie; blonde, outrageously curvy, with a wicked gleam of mischief in her cobalt blue eyes that reminds Sam of Dean when he's feeling playful. And finally there's Jenny; a bean pole with a long fat braid of mahogany hair and the sweetest smile Sam's seen in a long, long time. They're friendly and good natured and when they ask where Sam and Dean are headed to, Dean glibly spins the truth 'oh, we're taking a road trip on the way to meet up with our Dad.'

At the news that Sam and Dean are siblings Jordan beams like he's just won the lottery and redoubles his flirting with Dean who laps it up and returns it in kind and it's really weird, not to mention deeply disturbing, to witness the female version of horndog Dean in action. Subtlety, thy name sure as shit is not Dean Winchester.

Dean and Jordan end up teamed against Sam and Jenny in a hotly contested game of eight ball while the rest watch/cheer/heckle/urge them on. Dean's not interested in hustling so he and Sam don't sandbag just how very good they are. In fact, Dean starts showing off for Jordan, taking trick shot after trick shot to the increasing applause of the group and the frequent eye rolls of Sam.

Jordan's a decent pool player but it's Jenny who turns out to be the shark of the group and since Sam's damn good himself (just not as good as Dean) it's a pretty even match. In the end, they split the first two games and Dean and Jordan take the third by virtue of Dean running the table and by then Sam's relaxed pretty much in spite of himself. It almost feels like he's back at Stanford, hanging out with his buds after finals only there's the added bonus of Dean being there too. It's close to the fantasy that Sam will never, ever tell Dean he used to have during his first, desperately homesick, year at Stanford. Too Winchester stubborn to call and ask but praying that his big brother would show up unannounced at the dorm or the local hangout with his easy grin and protective gaze that meant home.

Ace has a wicked understated sense of humor that Sam can appreciate. Talking to Les is like being back in a coffee shop with his pre-law study mates. Evie is a firecracker of energy and she spends most of her time laughing with Dean and Jordan which Sam is grateful for because it means there's someone besides him running interference. And Jenny…well Jenny is someone Sam feels immediately at ease with; something he's not used to. Oh Winchesters can charm a witness, snow a mark, or slide into a group of strangers with a wink and a grin but to actually genuinely feel at ease with someone right off the bat? Not considered a Winchester virtue. But it feels…great. So after the pool game wars are over Sam finds himself at a small round table drinking beer at an easy pace and scarfing down bar food and just _talking_ to Les and Jenny about life and school and random thoughts and enjoying himself the way he hasn't since, well, Stanford and a fire that destroyed his life a second time.

He still remembers to cast a frequent, assessing eye over at Dean and perfect asshole Jordan who're still at the pool table but, well, Evie's still running interference so Sam lets himself relax further into the atmosphere of friendship. Which is why it's such a surprise when suddenly his Dean sixth sense kicks in and he whips his head up just in time to see her disappear out the bar door with…Evie?

Blinking in surprise he turns and watches as a ruefully smiling Jordan drags another chair up to their table, waving at the waitress for a beer. The table's occupants eye Jordan in surprise but it's Les who finally asks the question the others are thinking as he slowly scans the room. "Hey man. You strike out?" He then seems to remember that Dean is Sam's sister and offers him a half apologetic grimace which Sam acknowledges with a shrug.

"Uh, yeah," Jordan's smile turns sheepish and he runs a hand through his perfectly gelled hair. "Dean and Evie, uh, left. Together."

A moment of dead silence descends as the IQ of every male at the table (except Sam) drops about fifty points (and hell it doesn't happen to Sam only because he's desperately reciting the lord's prayer in Latin to block the mental image of girl-Dean and curvy Evie going at it in hot lesbian sex). Even Jenny has a weird look in her eyes although maybe she's just trying not to burst into guffaws of laughter at how pathetically easy men are.

"Wow," Les finally breathes out after the silence stretches while Ace just continues to have a far, far away look in his eyes accompanied by a dreamy smile.

Sam, meanwhile, is shaking his head in resigned annoyance. Dean, that frigging bastard, was probably planning this from the very beginning with Evie his target all along. Still annoyed, Sam turns and studies Jordan's still sheepish feature and realizes with growing sympathy that really, the guy's not so bad. And Dean was kind of an asshole for leading the guy on like that. Feeling sympathetic, Sam reaches out to give Jordan a clap on the back in male bonding sympathy and offers him a fry.

They close out the bar and in the pre-dawn hours Sam finds himself exchanging e-mail addresses with Jenny and Les and being dropped off at the motel feeling relaxed and happy. He notices the Impala's not in the motel lot and is not surprised to enter the motel room and find it empty of Dean's presence. He feels a momentary hit of worry but knows, dammit, that Dean can take care of herself even when he is a she. And it's not even like Dean's hunting. She's off having sex with an incredibly hot girl and it's not like Dean has _ever _needed any help with that. So Sam jumps into the shower to wash the bar smoke out of his hair, spends an hour on the computer checking e-mails and doing some random surfing and then turns in.

Does he fall asleep? Of course not. But he's there, in bed, eyes determinedly closed when he hears the lock turning about two hours later. Eyes opening instantly, he sees the outline of girl Dean enter their room and Sam feels muscles he didn't know were tense relax.

He debates pretending to sleep but mentally shrugs and prop himself up on his elbows, eyeing his sister with wry irritation. "So Evie, huh?"

Dean stops pulling off the boots she'd hunted down at a thrift store earlier in the day and offers Sam a grin; a flash of gleaming white in the darkened shadows of the room.

"What happened to Jordan?" Sam asks with polite irony thick in his voice.

The grin widens. "Well, there's always tomorrow," Dean responds, a mischievous lilt decorating her voice as she pulls her t-shirt over her head and off in one swift move that causes Sam to hastily squeeze his eyes shut to block her naked outline. Gah.

Sam firmly decides with eyes still determinedly shut that Dean is definitely punking him and he will think of this no more.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next couple of days end up being some much needed down time for Sam and Dean. They take it easy, sleeping in, hanging out, taking turns insulting each other and doing some low key research. They even make it to a movie one morning; a horror flick and damn, it's a good thing the matinee's not crowded because Sam practically gnaws through his hand to keep from cracking up at how very, very bad it is and because Dean keeps leaning over and making wise ass asides to him like "ooh, impressive how he's luring that werewolf to its doom by feeding it his arm. Take notes now Sammy. We gotta try that next time."

They spend the rest of the time doing inventory and stocking up on low supplies and Dean manages to slip out and hook up with Evie a couple more times which is practically an engagement for Dean and he returns from each assignation with a very well-fucked look on her face that makes Sam want to ask, only...fuck no.

The three days pass swiftly and suddenly it's almost over and the fun and relaxation of the past days slowly fall away as night approaches and the possibility of not changing back manages to push and shove and claw its way to the forefront of Dean's thoughts, making him tense and grim faced.

At ten at night Dean is already prepared for bed in her boxers and the tank that she finally gave in to wearing to shut up Sam's complaints (aka whining). Although he knows Dean would pretty much gouge her own eyeballs out before admitting it Sam also knows what's going through Dean's mind, what's making her answers curt and her smile a dim shadow. But Sam also knows that if he tries to offer any words of comfort Dean will give him a 'you are such a little emo bitch' look and a sneer so instead Sam stays quiet and gets ready for bed at the same time, knowing his quiet presence is the only comfort his brother will accept.

And so they're both in bed by ten thirty and there's a thick silence blanketing the room as neither of them feels anything close to sleepy.

Shit.

Around midnight, Sam hears Dean toss the covers back and slip into the bathroom for a leak. The sound of the toilet flushing and running water permeates the room for a minute before the light flashes dark again and Dean is back in bed, settling into an indistinct lump in the corner of Sam's eye.

At about a quarter to one, Sam hears Dean toss the covers back and slip into the bathroom again. She stays in there for several minutes and even though Sam can't see it he knows Dean's studying her image in the mirror with a grim face and dealing with the possibility that this might be what she wakes up with.

At about two thirty, Sam hears Dean cursing softly under his breath a litany of 'fuck, go to sleep, shit, suck it in, just fuck, goddammit, just go the fuck to sleep you fucking moron.'

At about three Sam feels a slight change in the room and knows that Dean has finally, _finally_ drifted off and a few minutes after that he knows from the change in Dean's body language and just from years of sleeping in the same room with him that Dean has finally settled into a hard sleep.

About a minute after that Sam's dead to the world.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam wakes up, bleary-eyed and groggy and he lies there for a second wondering why he's so damn tired since for once there aren't any nightmares lingering at the edges of his subconscious. And then memory comes crashing back and he jack-knifes up off the bed, immediately looking over to the unmoving lump in Dean's bed. Sam's forehead wrinkles in worry. Should he wake him? But what if the spell hasn't had enough time to wear off? His eyes shoot to his cell phone on the night stand; 7:07 am. Fuck. Dean went to sleep barely four hours ago. What if waking him up too early interrupts the reversal process? But he can't just _wait_ and there's no way he's going to be able to go back to sleep. Sam considers pulling the blanket back to take a swift look without waking Dean. But Dean has the instincts of a soldier out in the field, constantly alert to danger, even in his sleep. Of course Dean also has the instincts to know Sam means family and family means safe, so he _might_ not wake up. Sam stands there, torn, gnawing on his chapped bottom lip before slowly, cautiously, reluctantly sitting down again. He can't risk it.

Approximately forty seven minutes later there's movement beneath the blankets. A shifting of position, a grumbled, sleepy murmur and Sam just can't take it another fucking minute. "Dean?" he asks cautiously, every nerve in his body tensed as the movement suddenly stills. "Dean?" he says more sharply this time when there is complete silence beneath the bed except for 'rustle, rustle, rustle.'

"Hey Sammy," the voice comes from under the blankets and Sam is already smiling when his brother shoves the covers back because it's Dean's voice and Dean's head that emerges, still too damn pretty but thank God very definitely male. The blankets push all the way back and Sam is deeply, deeply grateful that there are no longer any breasts attached to Dean's chest to avoid staring at.

Dean is beaming up at him with rare simple happiness, uncluttered by his usual snark or cynicism and Sam smiles back in sheer relief. His older brother, his constant is back to normal again.

Of course now that he is…

In a heart beat Sam's smile makes the shift from relief to smirking.

"Welcome back. Deanna."

Dean's grin widens and the expected attack is swift and sure and Sam knows its coming but barely has time to react before the tackle takes him to the floor and they're half-heartedly trying to kick each other's asses even as the grins remain.

"Bitch."

"Girl."

"Oh, I think you're the little girl Samantha."

"I'm still taller than you asshole!"

"Yeah, cause you're a mutant freak."

"Hey! No tickling! No tickling!"

It's a fucking Hallmark moment. Winchester style.

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